


Burn Like We Were Falling Stars

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, The Academy Is...
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually everything goes back to the start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Like We Were Falling Stars

Mike doesn’t sound any different. He’s not sure why it surprises him, but it does. Maybe because he’s changed so much? Maybe because Mike feels so much like a stranger now. They haven’t talked for years. None of them have, really. Wounds always too fresh. Even the self-inflicted ones.

Their reps talked for them when Bill recorded “Pick Up the Phone”, and they’d been prepared to argue, but apparently Mike had just shrugged and said, “What the hell am I going to do with it?” And that was that.

It’s probably the easiest anything's ever been in their working relationship.

This has always been a possibility. Before everything happened, they’d talked about doing an anniversary tour. But then it did, and he put it out of his mind until Adam called him one day and asked if it was still on the table. Bill was honestly surprised, because Adam’s arguably done better than any of them.

“I hadn’t realized that was even an option.”

“Andy’s willing.”

It had hung in the air then. It had always belonged to the three of them, but Bill and Mike were the heat and the passion, the drive behind Adam’s heart. “You think he would?”

“I think you’d have to ask.”

“Right.”

“Let me know.”

**

He was surprised Mike had the same phone number. He’d been braced to call Gabe to ask. The people who used to be closest to him are text and email now, so that would have been hard. Not as hard, but hard enough.

“It says Bill on my caller ID, but that’s got to be bullshit.” There’s a long silence, and he doesn’t know what to say or how to respond. “Now I know it’s bullshit, because Bill can’t keep quiet this long.”

Mike doesn’t sound mad or hurt or upset, which was all he’d sounded in their last conversation. But Bill recognizes bravado when he hears it. He’s an expert in it himself after all.

“Hey, Mike.”

Now it seems to be Mike’s turn to be silent. It’s a different kind though. Charged.

“I don’t suppose you’re on your knees, huh?”

Bill’s eyebrows shoot up. “Pardon?”

“Begging my forgiveness.”

“Um. Fuck no.”

He can almost hear Mike’s shrug. “Worth asking.”

“Right.” Bill’s quiet and then he laughs. “Shit. What do you say after three years? How are you?”

“Fine.”

Mike’s never been one to make things easy. “I’m sorry. I did it badly.”

“Master of understatement, as always.”

“They wanted us to make their album.”

“I get _why_. It was never the why. It was the how and the when and the fucking taking it upon yourself to make a decision that affected _all_ of us.”

“I know. But that’s what I excel at, right? Burning bridges.”

“You fucking use them like light switches.”

“You guys managed to stay close with everyone. Kept everything intact. You could have...”

“Don’t be an asshole, and don’t fucking insult me. Doesn’t matter if we were there at the start. We’re replaceable. You’re the fucking band.”

“No.” He knows he sound stubborn, but this is something he truly believes. If what Mike said is true, then dissolving the band wouldn’t have been necessary. “No. Not without you guys. I couldn’t be us without Andy, and he wasn’t there from the start. You honestly think I could do it without you or Adam?”

“Seem to be doing just fucking fine.”

It’s almost a relief to hear the bitterness. That Bill understands. Expects. “Yeah. At being me. I don’t try to be us. Never have. As soon as I could, I stopped singing our songs.”

Mike exhales slowly. “It was ours too.”

“I know. I never...I never wanted it to be like this. If you don’t believe anything else, please believe that.”

There’s another silence and Bill doesn’t know how to interpret it. “So.” Mike’s voice is quiet and Bill can picture him. “We’re doing this thing.”

“Up to you.”

“Oh, I see. I have a _choice_ in something.”

He nods even though Mike can’t see it or hear it. “That’s a no then?”

“Did I fucking say that?”

“No. But I’m pretty sure you hate me, so why would you want to do anything like this with me?”

“You are such a fucking drama queen. I don’t hate you. If I didn’t hate you when we lived together-”

“You did.”

“Do you ever shut the _fuck_ up?”

William stops himself from responding, but he can feel the anticipation in the moment before Mike speaks again. 

“I was pissed off at you. Fucking furious. But I didn’t hate you. I don’t hate you.” Mike stops, maybe to let it sink in. Maybe because he’s run out of words to say. Or maybe not. “So, yeah. We’re fucking doing this.”

**

It’s almost a year in the making from the first discussion to the Riot Fest announcement. The response is amazing. More than any of them expected. It’s no Fall Out Boy announcing the end of their hiatus, but it’s bigger than they’ve ever seen at a show that was just them. They all watch the responses on Twitter and Instagram come in – even Mike – and it’s almost surreal.

“Shit.” They’re all four at Mike’s, trying to sort through names of possible guitarists. No one mentions Chislett. No one mentions Tom. It’s an unspoken agreement. Tom was there right after, but Empires has really taken off, and it almost feels like cheating. It doesn’t really make sense when they try to talk about it, but it somehow just does.

It’s really down to Ryland and Ian. Ian’s really the only choice. Ryland’s good and can most likely get the songs down, and he can definitely sing backing vocals, but he’s trying to distance himself from making music. And Ian’s a fucking virtuoso, and something about going back to The Cab – Pete’s other orphaned band – seems right. Maybe it’s a little spiteful. Maybe the hurt’s still there.

They’re drinking and eating and getting flooded with responses, and Bill doesn’t think there’s been anything like it in their career. Some things that were just as good, but never in this way. 

They have a guitarist and a gig. It’s almost as giddy as the other first gigs. Bill wishes in a place he doesn’t show that it were different. That there were friends he could call. Could share with. Johnny and Tony already know and, like Mike said, Bill’s burned a lot of bridges. Besides, Mike’s already told Gabe. Gabe’s probably told Travie and Pete. Assuming he thinks they’d even care.

“You’re thinking too loud.” Mike walks over to where Bill’s gravitated to the window, staring out at the never quiet dark California night.

“2005 was just a thing, you know? Planets aligning and shit. A whole family to support us.”

“They’re still there. You just need to get your head out of your ass. When you blow up a bridge, you can’t expect someone else to rebuild it.”

Bill shakes his head. “I have tried. I mean, Gabe and I are okay. Travie and I are...friend...friendly. Pete feels like I betrayed him. Didn’t need or want him anymore. Wasn’t loyal, which is the biggest sin in his book. I thought he’d understand needing to do it on my own. I didn’t think he’d take me so literally.”

“You tend to have an air of finality to you.”

“But he’s known me since I was a teenager.” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Water under the bridge I burned, right? He’s doing for other people what he did for us. What he wanted to do for us.”

“We all decided we wanted to try to get out from the shadows. And we were good enough.” Mike’s voice is soft. Even after all this time he can still read Bill too well. “We were.”

“We were good.” Bill nods, a wry smile twisting his lips. He knows Mike will hear the ‘I’ despite the fact that Bill doesn’t say it. “We weren’t good enough.”

**

They announce the Double Door show and it sells out almost before he can retweet it. He double checks the number of tickets and calls Johnny and asks him to make sure Bill’s not hallucinating. Johnny just laughs like a maniac. It’s as comforting as it is unnerving.

“Face it, asshole. People love you.”

“Us.”

“Royal you.”

“There’s no such thing as a royal you.”

“Collective you. Whatever. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Besides nostalgia is high right now.”

“We sold it out.”

“You did.” 

“And now we’re getting a shitload of people adding the VIP.”

Johnny makes a noncommittal noise and then clears his throat. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“What if we suck?”

“You won’t suck.”

“It’s been five years.”

“You guys never sucked. And you’re better now. Your voice. Your confidence.”

“Yeah, but are we better together?”

Johnny sighs, and Bill knows he’s getting to the point where he’s pushing too far. It’s familiar territory. “Would you please just let shit happen?”

“I just don’t want to let anybody down. Disappoint them.”

“You’re harder on yourself than anyone else there is. You’re not going to disappoint them. And no one feels bad about doing this. They want it. I promise.”

He exhales softly and rubs his forehead. He can hear Christine and Evie come inside, voices high and happy with stories from second grade. “I don’t want to fuck it up, you know? The venues are booked. I just don’t want it to all fall apart.”

“Bill, you were never just a band. You were friends. Are friends. And even if things go to shit, you guys would hold until the tour was over. Quit being a fatalist. It’s not a good look on you.”

“How’s Sutton?”

“You’re so subtle. Go away. Tell the family we said hi. And lasagna at some point. Mama Minardi’s recipe.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“Do that.” Johnny’s quiet and Bill waits, nervous despite all the reassurances. “Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“Be excited, okay? You can worry later. Enjoy this.”

“Right.” He hears Evie call him from the other room. “Gotta go.”

“Remember. Happy. Look it up if you need to.”

“I hate you.”

“Don’t lie. You wrote a song about me.”

“I can change the lyrics.”

“If you do that, no one can sing along, and I know how much you love that shit.”

Bill doesn’t say goodbye, but he doubts Johnny would hear him over his laughter.

**

Even though they’ve met up several times by now, he’s not sure what to expect when they start rehearsals. It helps that Jack’ll be there. He’s known them forever, seen the heights of ridiculousness and their worst fights. He’s a good buffer. It ends up not being necessary though. The second they start it all clicks. The songs and music are there. They laugh and joke around.

It’s like a family reunion where only the relatives you like show up. They give each other shit. It’s like the beginning. The good times. The best. Mike and Andy get along. Time or space seems to have taken care of the worst of it all. It might have been competition. Bill and Andy didn’t scratch and claw and bite when they wrote together, and the songs were still good. Mike’s statement about being replaceable stings him and he wonders where else he might have let him down.

It’s late one night and Adam and Andy have gone out for a drink together, Jack’s gone home, and he and Mike are alone in the rehearsal space. Bill rubs his face with his hands and sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Christ, you’ve just been sitting there. What the fuck could you have possibly have done now?”

“If I ever made you feel like you weren’t as important to the band as anyone. As I am. This isn’t me. It never has been. I just always assumed you knew.”

“I knew.”

“Did you?”

Mike looks at him. He’s good at hiding things when he wants to, but sometimes his expression is an open book. “I knew.”

Bill nods. “Good. I’m glad.”

Mike rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah. You’ve made your thoughts on _that_ really clear.” Bill laughs when he says it. The words don’t really have a sting or he’s possibly not as prickly and sensitive anymore. Or at least he’s not tonight. 

“It’s just the bald-ass truth.”

“Whatever, Santi.”

Mike smiles. “You haven’t called me that in ages.”

“No shit. We haven’t talked in ages.”

“Even before then.”

“Oh.” It feels like a punch, a jab.

“It sounds nice.”

Bill smiles and throws a guitar pick at Mike. “Why do I like you again?”

“Because I actually put up with you, you fucking diva.”

Bill flips him off this time. “You hungry?”

“You buying?” He laughs at whatever face Bill makes. He stands and pulls Bill to his feet. “Come on.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

When they get to Mike’s car, he rests his arms on the roof of it and looks at Bill. it’s hard to see his expression in the shadows of the street lights. He’s about to ask if everything’s okay when Mike breaks the silence. 

“I knew.” Bill knows what he’s talking about immediately. “But it’s nice to hear.”

**

He can’t remember the last time they were all in Chicago together. They have one last practice at the venue and then they all separate. When he gets home, Christine’s asleep on the couch. He touches her shoulder and guides her to the bedroom. He looks in at Evie and kisses her forehead. She’ll see – meet – Mike tomorrow. That might be the most surreal part of all of this. She knows who he is, but it’s different all the same.

Christine hasn’t seen Mike yet, so there’s that too. It’s just another layer of nerves and frayed edges. He knows he should stop worrying, but he’s spent the majority of the last few years standing behind a guitar. Being William Beckett of The Academy Is... is a hell of a lot different. Vocal ranges, singing while moving around the stage, jumping off drums.

For a second he feels ever single year between twenty and thirty, but then it’s gone. He heads back to the bedroom and into the bathroom. He’s not the same. None of them area, but maybe that’s what’s going to let them be The Academy Is...

At least for a little while.

One more time.

**

The meet and greet starts later than planned. Which wouldn’t be so bad if they hadn’t heard how many people were in line. They reorganize the plan and make it through all of the Polaroids with time to spare. They joke with each other, but he catches Mike glancing at him from time to time, eyebrow raised in question.

He shakes his head, smiles and makes ridiculous faces. He’s nervous. Afraid. Not scared, but worried. He knows the venue’s sold out. He can see all the people there for them. He’s not second guessing himself, but he wouldn’t be him if there weren’t a questioning voice in the back of his head.

They all get surrounded when the pictures are done, and it’s easier, familiar. Especially when he sees all the same crowds for all of them. He sees people, faces he knows from his own tours, but it’s clear they’re here for the band as much as him.

Eventually everyone’s gone and they head back to the dressing room. Jack and Johnny and Courtney all look out and tell them about the crowds. William tries to ignore them but then Mighty Fox ends their set and this is it.

All four of them stand facing each other then Bill waves Ian over. “Should we do this?”

Andy breaks the silence. “Nah. I’m just not in the mood.” Everyone laughs and, just like that, it’s all okay no matter what.

They make their way out to the stage, and it’s like a wall of sound. It almost hurts with how good it feels. He watches everyone get ready then he walks to the front of the stage. The screams get louder, so he holds his hand up, then puts his finger to his lips.

The venue goes as silent as it can with that many people. He moves his hand and there’s a frozen moment he’ll never forget.

“Attention, attention.”

And then the world explodes around them.


End file.
